The sun had barely begun to dip toward the horizon when the familiar, heavy knot formed in Ahmed's stomach. It was 4:00 PM—time for Ile Kewu, the evening Arabic class.

In the neighborhood of Agege, the sounds of Lagos were usually a symphony of energy, but forAhmed and his friends, the sound of the wooden slate (Wala) clattering against the floor was a drumbeat of anxiety.

The Shadow of the Cane

Musa walked slowly, his footsteps heavy. He wasn't afraid of the Arabic language; in fact, he loved the rhythmic beauty of the Quranic verses. What he feared was the man waiting at the end of the street: Alfa Sikiru.

Alfa Sikiru believed that knowledge could only be beaten into a child, not invited in. He sat on his prayer mat with a long, flexible cane—the pasan—resting beside him like a coiled snake.  Musa! Come here," Alfa barked before Ahmed  had even taken off his sandals. “Recite the verses from yesterday.”

Ahmed's throat went dry. He had practiced, but under the sharp, judgmental gaze of Alfa, the letters began to swim. "Alif... Ba... Ta..." his voice wavered.

Swish-crack!

The cane landed on the dusty floor just inches from Ahmed's toes. “Louder! Are you sleeping? Or did your mother feed you cotton wool for breakfast?”

The other children giggled nervously, a soundAs the weeks turned into months, the "desire" for the holy tongue began to wither. It wasn't just the physical discipline; it was the language of By the time Ahed  turned fifteen, he found every excuse to skip. He would linger at the football pitch or stay late at school. His heart, which should have been open to the spiritual richness of his faith, felt like a door that had been slammed shut and locked from the inside.

One evening, he sat with his older brother, Ibrahim, who had stopped going years ago.

I don't want to go anymore, Brother, Ahmed  whispered. “I feel like I'm going to a battlefield, not a classroom.”

Ibrahim nodded sadly. “I felt the same. They forget that the Prophet (PBUH) taught with mercy. When they use the cane more than the heart, they don't teach us to love the Deen; they only teach us how to run away from it.”  shame.The story of Ahmed is one shared by many, but it doesn't always end in distance.

Years later, Ahmed found a young teacher in the city who sat with his students in a circle, sharing dates and stories of the Sahaba. There was no cane. When Ahmed stumbled over a word, the teacher simply smiled and said, “Slowly, Ahmed. The path to knowledge is a journey, not a race.”

For the first time in his life, Ahmed didn't feel the knot in his stomach. He felt the desire return—not because the language had changed, but because the hand holding the book was finally extended in kindness rather than raised in anger. born of relief that it wasn't them, and fear that they would be next.